


It's not as if he does this all the time

by Buggirl



Series: May to September [14]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Relationship, regret for life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: It's cold and her lips are warm, but a measure of guilt about the encounter has MacCready rethinking things.





	

_It’s not as if he does this all the time._

It’s his eyes and gun for hire, that’s it. Anything extra is a bonus. The sweetest fucking bonus. He studies her face as her mouth swallows the tip, her lips soft and warm. After a first pass of her tongue he lets out a quiet groan.

It’s cold outside, and today after hauling a sack full of crap to this place – Jamaica Plains or something it’s called – all that they find here is this shitty fucking couch. No bed, no fire, nothing. The only thing that’s warming him right now is her hot breath on his groin. She’d picked up a teapot earlier, asked him to put in his sack. He refused and told her he was already carrying too much. She squeezed his shoulder, gave him a lopsided smile and said she’d make him tea if he did. It took two shakes of a molerats tail to realise that she meant something else. He took the pot from her hands and shoved it in amongst the rest of the junk.

Now he sits quietly, still fully dressed, aside from having his cock out and her serving him ‘tea’, a heady brew for sure. Her lips are so fucking red for someone not even wearing lipstick, almost the same shade as this couch. They’re also plump and sweet as fuck. Her hands accompany her mouth, silky and smooth, they both move up and down his cock as if she’s playing some sort of fucking instrument. There’s only one thing about this he doesn’t like, and that’s it’s out of his control. Much like his whole fucking life, but there’s no way he could ever say no to this. So he sits back and observes her quiet motions. She’s down on her knees on the hard wooden floor, he never thought that someone he calls Boss would ever put herself in that position.

_It’s not as if he does this all the time._

There was that guy a few months ago – hired him for a dream ticket job, get in, kill a few guys, out. The job done in a day, and later the guy ploughed him with whiskey, gone down on him and when he was done kissed his neck, whispered into his ear that he wanted to fuck him, and even threw extra caps his way. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted but he knew his limit and prostituting himself for extra caps wasn’t one of them. A drunken blowjob on the spur of the moment was one thing, sex for caps, something else completely. He rubbed his eyes with his palms at the thought. He’s not sure why he’s fucking her, and at this moment it doesn’t matter, she’ll blow him now, he’ll fuck her later, no strings attached. She’d called her dead husbands name the first time, and he’d thought of Lucy it’s likely both of them will do it again because there is no fucking way this could be anything more than a convenient fuck. Tomorrow he’ll be back on the job and help her fix up this shitty place.

He stretches one hand out and runs it through her hair; he pulls on several strands moving them out the way to give him an unimpeded view. She’d had it cut back in Diamond City – it looks nice. Her neck is exposed and dappled with freckles, like the rest of her. Damn, those freckles are everywhere. Today,  instead of that tight little vault suit with the zip down the front, she’s wearing a shirt and pants way too big for her, the shirt gapes and he gets a glimpse of her bra and can see the swell of her breasts, busty, hourglass like one of those old magazines. He likes it, he’s used to seeing people like himself, scrawny, malnourished – she looks – healthy as though the Wasteland hasn't touched her at all.

The leather jacket she wore earlier is from some guy named Kellogg she apparently killed. He could hardly believe it when she told him the story. The woman barely knows how to hold a fucking gun. That she’d hunted the guy down to get answers about her son. At the time, she was holding a modded assault rifle and told him that it was the gun she used. When she caressed the barrel with one hand, he had to excuse himself for a drink, not because he was thirsty, but because he has the biggest hard on watching her hand move up and down the cold grey metal.

He throws his head back and grunts as her tongue runs down the side of his shaft then back up and over the tip, he feels high and there’s not a med in fucking sight. The heat of her mouth hits his cock like a warm bath, not that he’s had one of those in a while. He looks down to see her staring up at him.

_Fuck_.

He tries not to think swear, but it’s hard, real fucking hard, and now? In the midst of a blowjob? Part of the mental challenge is not swearing even in an inner dialogue that no one can hear, but he makes an exception here, because fuck, her mouth is fucking beautiful as it slides up and down, and then her fucking eyes looking up at him, he feels like he’s drowning.

It hits him then. She reminds him of Lucy.

Not in looks, or what she says, or even in what she’s doing, because damn, Lucy made him fly just as high when she went down on him, although he’s sure there is no such thing as a bad blowjob. Shit, she even smells and tastes different from Lucy. Lucy smelt of orange hub flowers and medicine. She smells like peppermint and oatmeal soap. This thing? Was something else.

The feeling he has comes from small hands wrapping around his as they make love for the first time, from warm kisses scattering across his face from supple pink lips, whispers of ‘I love you’ and her hand over his when she moves his hand on to her belly to experience Duncan’s first kick. It’s the feeling of his heart thumping so loud in his ears when he sees the smile on Lucy’s face when she gazes at Duncan for the first time. All these were a memory and he’s not sure why she reminds of Lucy. Just that she does.

Shit. He shakes his head. He’s just getting a blowjob from her not fucking dating her.

_It’s not as if he does this all the time._

Her head bobs up and down then when she pops her mouth off the end her hand pumps the shaft, he shifts in his seat, grabs the arm of the chair and moans. Her lips are so wet and there’s a curl of smile. His other hand starts to reach out for her but instead moves awkwardly back to scratch his head at the hairline. His cap falls off but he doesn’t notice. Her other hand grips his thigh so tight he can feel her nails through the thick material of his pants. He flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. Part pleasure part pain. He wants to fuck her mouth, but holds back knowing that despite her efforts she’s probably exhausted, he knows he is. When he opens his eyes and looks down, she’s still staring at him and sucking.

Her eyes are pools of blue-grey compared with Lucy’s dark brown, different from Lucy’s, different from his deep blue ones. You could get lost in the darkness of Lucy’s eyes, tender, compassionate, inviting– safe like a warm cave– like Little Lamplight. Her blue ones though? It was like falling into a blue grey pond lit from beneath by some mysterious light. There was an element of abandonment, of aimlessness and helplessness. She looks so goddamn vulnerable.

Fuck. Now he feels like an utter prick. It wasn’t his intent to use her this way. He argues with himself, _she made the first move remember, MacCready, you dumb fuck_. But the inner debate won’t subside. He still has enough compassion and care to know he doesn’t want to use someone like this. Using people is for Gunners, he’d heard– seen it– too many times and he’s vowed never to take that on board. Even when he’s mired in his own shit and holding his own pity party he promised himself he would never do that. He’s still fucking hard as a barrel of a rifle but he can’t in good faith do this right now. He fucking knows it.

“Molly,” he whispers her name and she looks up and takes her mouth from him yet still keeps her hand moving. “I’m cold, and uh, your knees gotta hurt on that ground.”

He watches as she bites her lip and runs a finger along the bottom of her mouth her brows knitted together in confusion. “You don’t want this?”

“I do but– it’s been a long day. C’mon up with me, it’s fu– damn cold.”

Damn it, he didn’t put his needs aside often, and he’s still damn hard for her, but when she lays her head into the crook of his arm he knows it’s the right thing to do. For her, for him, and well, fuck. Whatever the hell this is, he just made it complicated.

_And really, It’s not as if he does this all the time._


End file.
